“Do you perhaps prefer being treated sadistically…”

“Your Grace!”

Creta, momentarily forgetting they were in the middle of an operation, raised his voice.

“Will you keep this up until the end?”

“Well, you shouldn’t worry.”

“…”

“Ever think it’s strange that you suddenly started worrying about me?”

Gillian was now picking up his gloves.

If he just puts them on, he would turn around and leave without hesitation.

Absolutely.

“Sire Sylas also did the same.”

He didn’t mean to mention a name that could be Gillian’s antipathy.

But the pentup feelings involuntarily burst out.

‘Don’t worry.’

That day, Sire Sylas had left with the royal guards that came for him, leisurely smiling.

Even as the emperor next door was shouting for immediate execution.

It was a situation with an uncertain outcome.

Perhaps they won’t really execute someone like Barlock, but seeing the emperor so outraged for the first time, he couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

So that day, Creta pleaded.

Please don’t go.

He would gather the nobles, submit a petition to the emperor, and try to change the atmosphere.

He pleaded.

Though a dead count might be troublesome, if possible, he thought to cover it up.

But Sire Sylas Barlock refused.

‘I am a Barlock.’

‘But Your Grace!’

You might die if you go now.

‘How could I refuse the call of Termina?’

Finally, that day, Sire Sylas Barlock passed him by.

Without a shred of tension, even somewhat uplifted.

Even now, his lightly fluttering white hair seemed to float before his eyes.

Gillian Barlock now had the same expression as Sire Sylas Barlock.

Even more palefaced.

Seeing Gillian looking at him, Creta was resolved not to miss this time.

“You can’t go.”

“What if I don’t?”

“Isn’t it a matter you don’t have to step in from the beginning?”

“Whether I step in from the beginning or later, that’s my role anyway. Creta Barhan.”

Gillian pulled the gloves up to his fingertips and snapped the wrist part with a pop.
The sound of quality monster leather lashing against his pale flesh resonated more ominously than usual.

He had a bad feeling about this.

Kreta stared intently at Gillian.

Losing a master once was enough.

No, he wanted to stop losing masters without even giving a proper try.

He knew he was nothing when it came to Barlock.

He also knew too well that no one but he could handle the monsters.

“But….”

“Kreta Varhan. I guess I have to say it like this.”

“……”

Gillian, who had tightly pulled on his remaining glove, opened his mouth with an unwavering gaze.

“There’s someone I’ve kept waiting too long. This time, I can’t be late for any excuse.”

It was a promise stronger than any vow to return.

Thump.

With a dismissive flick of his glove, Gillian gestured.

“Move.”

There could be no reason to stop him from leaving quickly.

Kreta’s body that had been blocking the path was instantly pushed to the side.

“The snow is falling heavily, you should go inside.”

The Vicar lowered his head to the tender soprano calling him.

It was a young priest.

He must be about six years old.

“I have more prayers to offer, so you should go back first, priest.”

“No. Vicar. The Holy Lady said you should come back with her.”

She’s waiting with hot chocolate prepared for both of you.

The cheeks of the young priest delivering the message flushed with joy.

“Did she say to come together?”

“She said she’d wait with two cups prepared. Before it cools.”

“I see.”

The Vicar slowly knelt, looking at the young priest whose eyes shone like stars.

The old Holy Lady was wise.

Rather than scold or nag like other priests, she had chosen this excellent tactic.

For days he had knelt without moving, his knees had become numb, as if they belonged to someone else.

He wobbled, but the Vicar slowly stood up, erasing the pain by standing still for a moment.

The young priest who had been quietly waiting asked.

“Vicar, what prayer did you offer?”

“I wished.”

“Do you, Vicar, also have a wish?”

“If I can dream, then it’s all right, isn’t it? Do you, priest, have a wish?”

The Vicar gently took the hand of the young priest who looked up at him and began to walk.

The small hand that fit into his palm felt as cold as that day long remembered.

“I…want to see my mom.”

For a moment, a blue vein appeared and disappeared in the Vicar’s hand.

“Did your mother become a star in heaven?”

“Yes, she is now resting in the arms of the God.”

At the words of the young priest, the empty blue eyes suddenly came to mind.

‘It’s all my fault.’

That familiar visage, so quick to brand himself a sinner.

‘If someone like me hadn’t been born, wouldn’t everyone have been happy?’

At the sight of her laughing even as hope and life had withered away, he recalled the moment when he had felt so unjust.

The Holy Lady didn’t just send any priest.

Sending a young priest who was too much like her, how could she do such a thing….

The Vicar took a painful breath and managed to smile at the young priest.

“Shall we pray for the peace of the one who became a star?”

The wisdom of the Holy Lady had turned into poison.

His barely consoled heart tore apart.